Eva shook her head, and there was something about the look on her face that sent a chill down Úrsúla’s back.

‘I don’t mean that,’ Eva said. ‘I’m looking at the item that popped up online a few minutes ago. It’s about you.’

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‘According to our sources, the minister requested at a meeting with ministry staff and police that Pétur Pétursson’s medical records should be handed over, as well as records of any psychiatric treatment he may have undergone. Such records are confidential and are not considered to be publicly available.’

Óðinn read from the screen in front of him in a voice that was so powerful and resounding that Gunnar found it almost painful. Then he slammed the laptop shut with a bang.

‘There were three of us at this meeting,’ he hissed, staring at Gunnar. ‘How the hell was this leaked?’

‘I have no idea,’ Gunnar said and shrugged. ‘I know as much about this as you do.’

Óðinn glared at him for a while, then sighed and slumped back 123in his chair. Gunnar had always felt that Óðinn was a friendly, reliable type, but now his manner was sharp and irritated.

‘I don’t understand it,’ he said. ‘I’ve spoken to Boris and he was as surprised as I was – said he hadn’t even started looking for these documents so there’s nobody else inside the police who knows about the minister’s request, and I haven’t mentioned it to anyone.’

‘So it has to be me?’

Gunnar squeezed out a smile in a weak attempt to highlight how ridiculous this half-accusation sounded, but it made no difference. Óðinn’s expression didn’t change, but he twisted slightly in his chair to stare out of the window at the dark sky that would hardly have time to turn a real blue before dusk again set in.

‘Maybe you mentioned this in passing to someone who could have then leaked it?’ he said, still gazing out of the window.

‘No,’ Gunnar said.

‘We’re talking about a meeting that took place yesterday,’ Óðinn said, turning back to face Gunnar. ‘It can’t be a long trail in such a short time.’

Gunnar shrugged again. There was no satisfactory explanation that he could give the permanent secretary; he couldn’t think of any way Úrsúla’s innocent and, in fact, understandable request could have triggered such a media storm.

‘You have a girlfriend?’ Óðinn asked. ‘Could you have inadvertently mentioned this to anyone you trust?’

‘No,’ Gunnar said. ‘I haven’t mentioned this to anyone at all. It’s as simple as that.’

Óðinn sighed and turned his gaze back to the window.

‘It’s a clusterfuck, the minister getting a kick in the teeth like this after only a week in the job.’

‘What can we do?’ Gunnar asked as he stood up.

Óðinn spun his chair in a semi-circle and got to his feet.

‘What you do is precisely nothing,’ he said with determination. ‘The ministry will issue a statement explaining that this is all a misunderstanding.’ 124